Page 81 of Pose for Me
Fuck, the look on Lane’s face tears my heart out. His hand clamps on his neck, and his eyes fill with tears. “Ry…why?”
“I’m sorry, Agent,” I say, but I’m not sure he hears me, as his eyes are already closed and his breathing deepens.
Moving quickly, I dress in dark clothes, find a cap, and pull it low over my eyes. I also slide on a pair of gloves. Then I change Lane out of his pretty panties to a pair of plain briefs, stuffing his underwear into my pocket for safekeeping. When Lane is found, they’ll put him in a hospital gown, and someone will see the panties he’s wearing. I don’t want them to ask him questions about what happened here or for anyone to look at him as anything other than a victim.
When he’s decent in a pair of faded sweatpants and a ripped shirt, I scoop Lane into my arms and take him downstairs. When I get to my garage, I put Lane in the back of my van, and with a heavy heart, I climb into the front seat and head out.
An hour later, I pull up into a parking garage far from my home and search for a car with dark tint for the second part of my plan.
Once I locate one—which is luckily parked in a dark corner with no cameras around—I park beside it, jimmy the lock, and open the door. It takes me only a minute to transport Lane into the front seat.
Before I drive off, I lean over to Lane’s sleeping form and kiss him gently on the lips. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. But you’ll thank me in the future.” I kiss him once more on the forehead, then drag his seatbelt across his chest, back out of the space, and head to a hospital a few cities away.
An hour and a half later, I pull up to the emergency room entrance and put the car in park. I run around the hood of the car, take Lane out, and leave him in front of the doors.
Even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I get back in the stolen car and drive away. As I look into the rearview mirror, several nurses run out of the building toward Lane, and one of them races after my car.
But I put my foot on the gas and speed away, trying to push thoughts of Lane from my mind.
I fail miserably.
Twenty-Nine
Lane
Bright lights piercemy closed lids, and I try to raise a hand to shield my eyes. I thought I closed the bedroom curtains before I went to sleep, but I guess not.
“Too bright,” I whisper, hoping Ryell will wake up and close them before I have to do it myself. I’m so fucking exhausted it requires energy to even utter those two words.
I’ll have to ask Ryell if he’ll get those blackout curtains so the sun doesn’t wake me every morning. Then again, after being locked in his dungeon for weeks, I don’t think I’ll give up seeing the sun as it rises.
“Lane. Can you hear me?”
It takes a moment to realize the voice saying my name isn’t Ryell’s. But itisfamiliar.
Slowly, I open heavy eyelids only to close them again as the fluorescent lights sting my retinas. Blinking through tears, I look over at Brock. His face is red, his eyes bloodshot.
He lets out a wet sob, then lowers his head to the bed and cries.
I want to comfort him, to tell him that everything is okay, thatI’mokay, but I can’t. I’m hurting too.
Ryell did it. He really let me go. Hepromised,but that didn’t matter to him.
I should have fucking known. Ryell is terrible at keeping promises. I should have…I don’t know, tied myself to his bed or cuffed my wrist to his to make sure he kept his word.
But that’s foolish. Ryell already made up his mind; nothing I did or said would have changed that.
When Brock is no longer sobbing, he looks up at me, wiping his face and giving me a shaky smile. “Hey, partner. I’ve missed you the past three months.”
Fuck, three months. I’ve been Ryell’s captive for three months. And in that time, he didn’t love me. Maybe he cared—if someone like him is capable of caring for anyone—but not enough to keep me. I was only sad for a few days, but that was too much for him.
Pushing away thoughts of my Daddy before I start crying, I hold my hand out to Brock. “Missed you too. Where am I?”
“About two hours from the field office. Small town called Hartvale. We’ll get who did this to you. One of the nurses that found you was able to get a partial license plate number of the car that dumped you in front of the ER doors,” he sneers. “But so far, we have nothing on the person or persons that abducted you.”
My stomach plummets as I think about someone seeing Ryell’s plate number, even if it is just a partial. I hope he was careful or ditched his car before authorities can track him down.
Brock clears his throat, getting my attention. “What happened, Lane? I prayed you were still alive, but after…”
